The Great Annual Bake- Off
by BeanietheCat
Summary: Down in New Orleans, there is a renowned baking competition that was forced to move underground after several winners wind up slaughtered year after year. Addie, a law student and amateur baker, is determined to uncover the secret behind the killings, and with the help of Sam and Dean Winchester, will try to bake a pie worthy of the judges and winning the Great Annual Bake- Off.
1. Chapter 1: Down in New Orleans

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the Supernatural series.

There is a park in New Orleans across St. Charles Avenue from Tulane and Loyola Universities that is home to hundreds of old Southern live oaks, covered in pale Spanish moss. The park is a popular tourist destination, especially during Mardi Gras season, when out-of-towners can unwind from hours of merriment and bead catching by retreating into nature and resting in the shadows of the oak trees.

When tourist season is now in full swing, students from the nearby universities spend their weekends on the emerald lawn, setting up volleyball nets or flag football tournaments. Others choose to throw a beach towel on the ground and spend a lazy Saturday or Sunday sunbathing while catching up on homework or studying for the next big exam.

Days and seasons pass quickly in the sun, sometimes blending together so much so that it is 80 degrees in February, yet the trees remain the same. Sure, they get flooded out from time to time, especially in the summer when Louisiana's daily showers pass through, but the old Southern live oaks continue to stand, covered in Spanish moss.

In the middle of the park, or as close to the middle as one can assume, stands a particularly large Southern live oak. Its branches, thick and knotted, twist and turn their way upwards and downwards, some permanently disfigured from tourists and students sitting on it for photo ops.

There's nothing overly special about this tree—it's draped with Spanish moss, just like its nearby siblings, and it also provides shade and comfort to students on the weekends and particularly comfortable weekdays. However, if one looks closely enough, a shape, elliptical in nature, winds its way around the trunk, suggesting this tree is the union of two merging together.

Some longtime residents of Uptown and the Garden District will tell you that this tree has been around since their great grandparents were kids and even before that. Others will say that it has certain qualities that are unnatural, that it is the source of magic for all those who practice voodoo or witchcraft. The tree is fondly called the Tree of Life to residents of the area, but as to how it got its name, the jury is still out. The Tree of Life is where our story begins…

"Ahh, my butt," the young girl winced as she gingerly pushed herself upwards. She had been sitting with her back against the huge tree for what seemed like hours and her tailbone did not appreciate it. On her outstretched legs sat a laptop, battery life at 15%, and screen barely visible from the early May sun.

The girl rubbed her eyes and looked away from the screen, her vision drinking in the natural views of grass, trees, ducks, and other students. It was a welcome relief from staring at a screen all day. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. What a way to spend a Saturday, nonstop studying for her exam on tort law.

"How's it going over there, Addie?" a voice jerked the young woman out of her glorious, non-tort related reverie.

"My computer is about to die, my brain is fried, my butt is in serious pain, and I'm starving Kate," Addie said, glancing over at her friend, a perky looking brunette with small green eyes and a face splashed with freckles. "I still don't understand why a crime due to negligence, which causes legal action, isn't classified as criminal negligence. Sometimes I feel like law is just whatever you want it to be as long as you're convincing."

"So you want to call it a day then?" Kate asked. "I was thinking we could go out to dinner tonight? We could go to that Thai place you love on Magazine."

Addie closed the lid of her laptop and Kate did the same. She didn't want to say it, but she really didn't want to spend any more time with Kate than she needed to. Not that there was anything wrong with Kate, she was just…clingy.

"Maybe some other time. I think I'm going to go running once I get home and changed," Addie said, standing up and stretching. The massive tree she was standing next to dwarfed all four foot eleven inches of her even further.

Kate pouted slightly but nodded, gathering her teal beach towel as she stood up.

"There's also a new recipe I want to try out tonight too," Addie explained. "It's a strawberry and banana cream pie. I'm really excited to see how it turns out. The recipe doesn't look too complicated, but you never know."

"I should've known you were ditching me to go bake something! I swear, why on earth are you in law school? Culinary school was definitely your calling."

"I'm not _ditching_ you, I just want to spend some time with pie. Besides, all this tort talk has me really craving tortes, or any kind of baked good, you know?"

"Fair enough. Let's get out of here, it's starting to get dark." Kate said, shivering slightly as she picked up her bag, beginning her walk towards the lights lining St. Charles Avenue. "I hate being here at night."

"Oh give me a break," Addie said, stifling a smirk as she shoved her laptop into her messenger bag, "you're one of those people? They're trees, Kate, _trees_. They aren't going to bite you or drag you to the underworld, or whatever the hell people are saying these days."

"Ha ha," Kate muttered under her breath. "It's not the trees I'm afraid of, it's the witches that come here at night and the weird creatures they summon."

"Kate, you sound like an absolute nut," Addie responded. "Besides, it's not even dark yet, and I hear they only go after brunettes on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, so you're good!"

Kate offered a retort, but Addie wasn't paying attention. Her mind was on the fresh strawberries and ripe bananas sitting on her counter at home, just waiting to be thrown together in a pie. She may need the help of her secret ingredient for this one though, especially with the mixing.

When they reached Tulane's campus, the two young women parted ways. Kate headed to her apartment further Uptown and Addie made way for her home a little closer to the Garden District. The sun was setting quickly, casting a dusky orange shadow behind the old, columned homes that lined St. Charles Avenue.

Addie opened an old, wrought iron gate and sprinted up the stairs to the door. As she fiddled with her keys, she noticed a large orange tabby cat sitting in the windowsill, waiting patiently. Once the door was open, the cat leapt from his perch and wove himself between her legs.

"Hey Apollo," Addie said affectionately, scratching the cat's ears and under his chin. "I missed you! How was your day?"

"I really hate being stuck inside all day, Addie, you know that," the cat muttered, leaping back into the windowsill, yellow eyes flickering. "It's humiliating! People walk by and gawk at me and tap on the window and say how cute I am…"

"Well, they're not wrong about that," Addie said playfully, scratching Apollo under the chin again. "Have you heard any updates about that coven we've been tracking? Kate said the weirdest thing about witches summoning creatures up in the park at night. Does that hold any weight?"

"I'm not sure," Apollo said, wrapping his tail tightly around his body. "It couldn't hurt to check out though, right?"

Addie walked to her closet door and opened it, pulling aside the hanging clothing. The back of the closet was filled with old and new newspaper clippings, highlighted, and annotated, but they all had one thing in common—the bake off.

"We could, but honestly Apollo, the bake off is right around the corner, and if we want to catch the son of a bitch who's been poisoning all those people and ripping their hearts out, we have to get a pie that's good enough to make it through the first three rounds."

"What's on the menu tonight?"

A/N: Review please!


	2. Chapter 2: Do We Have a Case?

Disclaimer: I do not own _Supernatural._

Author's Note: Please read and review!

"Sammy, what is _that?_ " Dean Winchester asked, raising an eyebrow. He was warily eyeing the green sludge that filled his younger brother's cup. Dean leaned across the table until he was eye level with the cup.

Sam Winchester glanced up from his computer screen, "This? It's green juice, it's good for you. It cleanses out your colon, you know? Detoxing?"

"De- _what-ing_?" Dean asked, practically spitting the syllables out. "You don't even know what's in it so it's just _green_ juice? Not _apple_ juice or _cranberry_ juice, or hell, even _gin_ and juice, it's just _green?_ I'll be damned, I never thought I would see the day when juice is just a color."

"Come on, Dean," Sam said, looking back to his computer. "We can't live off fast food and beer forever."

"We can't?!" Dean exclaimed sarcastically, leaning back in his chair. "I for one, accept your challenge, Sammy." In front of him, a burger was wrapped tightly in foil. Dean excitedly unwrapped it and took a monstrous bite, a speck of mustard dripping onto his chin.

"Gross," Sam replied. His features softened, "For what it's worth, I'm glad you have your appetite back."

Sam thought briefly about what Dean had been through recently: the Mark of Cain, becoming a demon, and then coming back to humanity in spite of everything. It was a relief he was cracking jokes again. Even though Sam knew Dean was still emotionally wrecked from it all, he was thankful his older brother was at least attempting to act normal.

"Yeah, yeah, can we please not do the chick flick moment right now?" Dean asked, wiping his mouth and taking another giant bite. "What's new in the world? Anything speaking our language?"

"Not really," Sam sighed. "A couple missing child alerts, a homicide investigation, they all look legit though, I think the locals can handle that. There was a story about some cow mutilations in Wyoming but another hunter is already on it. Have you heard anything from Cas?"

"Nadda," Dean said, popping the top off a beer and taking a swig. He chased it with another bite of his delicious burger.

"Maybe it's not a bad thing to take a little longer to rest, Dean," Sam said, his eyes filled with concern. Dean rolled his eyes and took another swig of his beer.

"I'm _fine_ , Sammy. Besides, I'm going stir crazy sitting in here. We've worked a couple cases since…you know…" Dean avoided eye contact with Sam, then looked at his brother again, eyes blazing, "and each time I felt…good. I felt normal."

Sam exhaled thinking it wise to hold in what he wanted to say.

"Wait a minute, listen to this," Sam said, his eyes widening as they sprinted across the computer screen. "It's an article from _The_ _Times- Picayune_."

"Bless you," Dean said automatically, crumpling up the foil his burger, now long gone, was wrapped in. Sam looked puzzled for a moment, and then chuckled softly.

"I didn't sneeze, Dean. I said _The Times- Picayune_. It's a newspaper based in New Orleans. Anyway, this weekend is French Quarter Fest. It sounds like it's a huge music and food festival, but that's not what caught my eye. This article is entirely about a bake-off that is held every year during French Quarter Fest, but get this, each year, one of the participants vanishes just before the winner is revealed."

"Go on," Dean said, eyebrows furrowed, taking another sip of his beer.

"So, the person who vanishes is always the judges favorite and most likely to win the competition, so the winner is always the runner up."

"You would think they would cancel an event with bad luck like that," Dean said.

"Right? According to the article, the bake-off was permanently canceled after the third disappearance, but pop up competitions are popular during the festival, and the authorities can't keep track of them all." Sam said, running a hand through his chin length hair.

"It's like the black-market Betty Crocker," Dean murmured, smirking to himself.

"Exactly! Anyway, for the last two years, at least two more people have been reported missing while participating in a bake-off during the festival. I think this might be our thing, Dean."

"Sounds like it, Sammy. So, we've got someone nabbing bakers, that's got to be a first. Does it say what kind of thing they're baking? Cakes? Beignets? It is New Orleans after all."

"Actually, pie." Sam said, holding back laughter.

Dean froze in his seat, his eyes glazing over slightly. Pie? Someone was messing with people who made pie? That was unforgivable in his opinion. One of the most unforgivable sins along with people who abuse animals, kidnap children, and willingly go by the name Dick.

"No," Dean whispered. "Sam if this wasn't our thing before, it is now." He stood up, nearly knocking his chair over.

"We're headed to New Orleans?" Sam asked, closing his computer.

"You got it."


	3. Chapter 3: Pies and Fortune Telling

Disclaimer: I do not own _Supernatural._

* * *

 _Beep beep beep,_ the oven timer screamed. Addie, who had been immersed once again in her tort book, jumped slightly before darting off the couch and into the kitchen muttering, "Every second counts!" Apollo watched her curiously, picking up her bookmark in his mouth and placing it on her open page. He jumped down from the couch and trotted after her into the kitchen.

"Oh my _goodness!_ Do you smell that?" Addie shrieked. She felt her heart pumping fast from excitement. This could be it; this could be the recipe that wins the bake off! "And you said that strawberry banana is too new age-y."

"I never said that!" Apollo insisted, jumping up on the kitchen table and wrapping his orange tail around his body. "I just said that the winners typically have more traditional pies, you know? Like cherry or apple."

Addie was no longer listening to him. She was staring at the golden perfection in her oven-mitted hands. The scent alone from the pie was enough to win her first place, and all thanks to her special ingredient. "Apollo, I really think this could be the one. Wanna try it?"

Before the cat could answer, Addie whipped out a small, stainless steel butter knife and pushed it gently into the pie. The crust broke evenly enough, without too much give or take on either side and the knife slid through the filling easily. With the pie broken open, the aroma coming from it was intensified and filled the entire house, even into the living room.

Addie quickly transferred a slice from the pie to a plate and stared at it for a long time. All those years of trying and failing, and here, in front of her, could be the answer to her problems. She could be one step closer to finding out if her mother was still alive…

"Addie?" Apollo said gently, "Are you going to try it or just watch it?"

"I'm trying to take it all in," she replied. "If this is it, Apollo, if this is really the one that could win the competition, well… it's just a little overwhelming."

"Being taken by some monster or demon, or whatever the hell is out there, is _overwhelming?_ " Apollo jested. Addie let out a small laugh and wiped her eyes, she hadn't realized they had been watering so profusely.

"Here goes nothing," Addie said with a smile. She dug her fork into the slice of pie and popped a piece in her mouth. Immediately her heart sank. "Damn," she said, "it's got no flavor."

"What? How? You used the enhancing spell to bring _out_ the flavor," Apollo said, wrinkling his forehead.

"Yeah, I know. I don't know, maybe it cooked out? Or maybe it just enhanced the smell? I mean, this smells like freaking heaven, but it just tastes…blah. I guess we'll have to go back to the drawing board. Maybe you're right, maybe I should try something traditional. How about apple?"

She tried hard to look beyond her failure. She spent months, a year, trying to find the right recipe after last year's bake-off, and so far, nothing was good enough. Magic didn't even make a difference!

"Apple could work," Apollo said. With a flick of his tail, he jumped off the kitchen table and pointed a paw at the clock on the wall. "Um…isn't it almost time for work?"

Addie's eyes flickered quickly to the time: 9:30. She hadn't realized it had gotten so late, between studying and baking, she was really losing track of time.

"Crap, you're right," she said, tossing the pie in the fridge and double checking that the oven was off. "It's Friday night too, so it should be a good turn out! Thank goodness, considering rent is due on Monday."

Running to the bedroom, Addie threw open her closet and shuffled through the myriad of clothing hanging precariously on hangers. She finally found the outfit she was looking for: a deep violet dress with scalloped edges and white lace overlay. Scattered throughout the lace were sequins that made the dress shimmer slightly in even the dullest lighting. It wasn't her favorite outfit, but it gave her a sense of mystique that drew in customers.

Addie hurriedly threw the dress on and ran into the bathroom to brush out her collar length auburn hair and tie it up in a half ponytail. She grabbed a handful of rings from the jewelry dish near the vanity and jammed them on her fingers. She hated rings, but, like everything else she was doing, it was for the appearance.

"Okay, Apollo, I've got to go," Addie yelled as she tossed flats on her feet, grabbed her work bag, and made her way for the door. "Don't wait up."

"Good luck!"

* * *

Once outside, Addie ran to the nearest street car stop and anxiously looked at her phone; it was 9:50. She was going to be late. Not that it mattered, but the crowds usually started pouring in at 10 exactly, especially during tourist season, which was in full swing right now.

The huge, green street car rolled slowly to a stop and a handful of people got off, many looking exhausted from the week now behind them. Addie swiped her card as she got on and plopped down in her seat, scrolling through her phone. As the street car rolled down the line on St. Charles Avenue, Addie sifted through apple pie recipes one after another.

Eventually, the city scape of New Orleans came into view. The tall, lit up buildings, the eerie street lights with their orange glows, the crowded sidewalks filled with people from all walks of life. It was all so energizing and strangely beautiful.

As the street car got deeper into the heart of the city and closer to the French Quarter, the buildings became older looking, and the iron work on the patios and balconies were clearly hand wrought from some bygone era. Magnolia trees were scattered here and there and the houses, although close together, presented a feeling of closeness rather than crowdedness.

Soon, they were in the heart of the French Quarter, and tourists and citizens alike were roaming the streets, ready for a night of revelry. College students, high school students, young and old alike all joined together in the French Quarter melting pot. Addie leaned back in her seat as several people on the street car pulled the string to be let off at the next stop.

The car came to a halt and Addie filed off with the rest of the excited passengers. Based on conversations she was overhearing, many of them were tourists, spending their first night ever in the Big Easy. She was almost one hundred percent sure she would see at least half of them again before the night was over.

Addie walked quickly down one of the side streets near a packed restaurant until she found the small shop she was so used to seeing on the weekends; _Roscoe's Psychic Services_.

"Addie, my girl!" a smooth, velvet voice cooed. Addie turned as a middle aged, African American man walked up to her. He was wearing a colorful shirt and khaki pants; his hair was trimmed neatly and his deep brown eyes looked almost black in the nighttime.

"Hey, Roscoe," Addie replied, smiling. "I'm sorry I'm late, I was working on something and lost track of time."

"No worries, my dear," Roscoe answered, his words thick with a Jamaican accent. "I won't lie to you, Rosie thought she would have a fortunate night tonight getting all the customers." He laughed and patted Addie on the back. "Your table is set up around the side, I told her you would be here."

"Thanks Roscoe," Addie said as she walked around the side of the little shop. At least ten small tables were set up, each with two chairs and a crystal ball. Various signs were leaning haphazardly against the tables, with hand painted messages such as: _Palm Readings: Reveal Your Life, Fortune Telling, Speak with Your Deceased Loved Ones! Medium Services,_ and _Cast Your Troubles Away with Easy Spells and Tarots for Beginners_.

Addie passed various tables, greeting each of the men and women who were seated. She came to her own table, one that she occupied since she was a freshman Pre-Law student at Tulane, and ran her hand along the top of it. There were various carvings in the wood she had made long ago to protect herself and her customers from any type of dangerous magic her coworkers might be unknowingly producing.

The truth was, most of her coworkers were just street magicians and good body language readers, but for the sake of the show they were being paid to put on, they would recite incantations and spells, some not always kosher. Addie warded her own table against all forms of misfired magic, and so far, it had not failed.

"I see you made it tonight, Miss Addie." A woman approached Addie's table. She had dark, chin length curly hair and skin the color of paper. Her eyes were a deep blue and slightly sunken in. Her lips were bright red, to match the color of her empire waist dress and heels.

"Hi Rosie," Addie replied, smiling slightly. Rosie Dorman was the oldest employee of Roscoe's. She was known to have a wide clientele and to be very successful and accurate in her readings. However, Rosie was one of the frauds, she was very good at reading body language, particularly when that body is completely trashed with alcohol.

"I thought you weren't coming! I'm sure you can imagine my excitement. At least you wouldn't have to compete with me for customers!" Rosie let out a shrill laugh that sent shivers down Addie's spine. Everyone competed for customers, it wasn't like you were assigned people. They approached you.

"Yeah, good point," Addie said, smiling half-heartedly. "Well—"

"Of course, people love coming to see me," Rosie interrupted, "I mean, I am an expert! That's why I have the longtime, _loyal_ customers."

"That's really great Ros—"

"Maybe tonight will be your night though, Addie! You never know. There could be enough for both of us," Rosie stepped up closely to Addie. "If you ever try to steal one of my clients again, it'll be the last thing you do," she murmured under her breath so that only Addie could hear. Addie inhaled sharply and took a step back, turning away from the older woman.

"Au revoir!" With a flash of her heavily jeweled hand, Rosie sauntered back to her table.

Addie felt her face burning and sat down in her chair. She exhaled deeply and uncovered her crystal ball, needing for this night to be over.

* * *

A/N: Please read and review!


	4. Chapter 4: Leads

Disclaimer: I do not own _Supernatural._

* * *

The black '67 Chevy Impala rolled slowly to a stop in a lot overlooking the Mississippi River Canal.

"I can't _believe_ we're paying for parking," Dean barked as he got out of the car and slammed the door shut. "Damned street parking; there's never enough! Would it kill anyone to, you know, have _free_ parking?"

"At least we got this," Sam replied, leaning against the hood of the Impala, breathing deeply, allowing the smell of the river to fill his nostrils. It wasn't the most pleasant smell in the world, but it was better than the inside of the Impala, which was beginning to take on a rather Dean-like aroma after fourteen hours of driving. Not to mention the fact that Dean wanted to stop at every Tex-Mex place in Texas for burritos, of all things.

"It's a Friday night in the French Quarter," Sam continued, "what did you expect? Not to mention, it's probably the height of tourist season."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean waved his hand at Sam and pulled the parking stub from the machine. He resisted the urge to kick it as _THANK YOU!_ scrolled across the screen. "I'm thinking we hit up some of the local spots and talk to some people, see if they know anything about this underground bake-off."

"In other words, you want to go to a bar and ask the closest pretty girl if she knows anything about local baking lore?" Sam rolled his eyes

"Sammy, I am liking your plan," Dean smirked. He ignored the flabbergasted look that crossed his brother's face. "Come on, Sammy," he continued, "it's been a long drive, let's have some fun in this city before we raise a little hell."

Sam smiled reluctantly. He opened the back door of the Impala and grabbed a brown leather messenger bag from the back seat containing his laptop. "Well while you're _interviewing_ the locals, I'm going to do some research and see what I can dig up on this bake-off."

* * *

Lights and music pulsed in conjunction with one another in the bar. Dean glanced around, the bar was packed with people of all walks of life; all talking, drinking, and doing some things Dean hadn't seen in quite a few years.

"I'm going to find a table," Sam murmured, gazing off towards the back of the bar, where it was darker and it seemed the throbbing lights and music were a little less invasive.

"You sure?" Dean asked, eyeing up the bar. Draped over the counter were two blonde women in skin tight dark jeans and low cut tank tops, giggling as they downed shots.

"Yeah, I'm good," Sam reassured him. "I'll grab a beer in a little, I want to get started with research first. You have fun though."

"Okay," Dean nodded and headed towards the bar. He leaned against the bar and surveyed what people were drinking around him. It appeared hurricanes were the drink of choice here. Dean allowed his thoughts to wander as he watched the bartender drift up and down the counter, pouring and distributing drinks to the people around.

It was all so simple and meaningless, it reminded Dean of time he could no longer go back to; one in which he was far less jaded and had seen less of what horrors the world, heaven, and hell could dredge up. His hand went absentmindedly to his arm, where the Mark of Cain was burned into his flesh.

"What'll it be?" the young woman behind the bar asked, leaning against the counter just enough to show off her cleavage.

"Whiskey, neat," Dean said, his voice deepening.

"Coming right up," the bartender responded, turning and reaching up for the whiskey as Dean looked her over. At least there were still things in life that were simple.

* * *

Across the bar, Sam typed away feverishly at his computer. He was supposed to be researching lore on the bake-off, but as usual, his research turned back to the Mark of Cain. Dead ends, that's where all his leads led, but he wasn't about to give up. Dean was his brother and the one person he couldn't live without. There had to be a way over this hurdle.

Sam took a sip of his beer and began typing again, watching Dean out of the corner of his eye. The Mark left his brother slightly unhinged lately, and this type of environment—crowded, loud, lots of people with different agendas—could easily set him off. However, in this moment, Dean looked content. He was busy chatting it up with one of the blonde women at the bar.

Sam exhaled, took another sip of his beer, and then closed the open window on his screen. He opened a new one and decided he should at least try to get some actual research in on the case they were working.

"So, you've lived here your whole life?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow and taking a sip of his drink. The young blonde next to him giggled and played with her hair, inching ever closer to him.

"Born and raised, honey," she murmured, getting close to him. Dean could smell the alcohol on her breath and suddenly felt very uneasy. "Why don't I take you back to my place and I can show you how Southerners get down?" she purred.

Normally, Dean would've eagerly taken her up on that offer, but something just wasn't right. Maybe it was the fact that she was at least 8, maybe 9, years younger than he was? He didn't want to think he was getting old, but every man should have his limit, right?

"Maybe not tonight sweetheart," Dean said, taking another sip of his drink and turning his back on the young woman. He heard her mutter a curse under her breath and then loudly proclaim to her blonde counterpart that the bar was too crowded with old men and suggested they go elsewhere. Dean closed his eyes and held his glass against his forehead. The cool crystal felt comforting against his skin.

"Long night?" a voice asked. Dean looked up and noticed the chestnut-haired bartender looking at him with large eyes.

"You could say that," Dean mumbled, sitting down his glass. The bartender smiled and grabbed the bottle of whiskey from behind the bar.

"On the house," she said, as she poured him another glass. "Are you from out of town?"

"Yeah, and thanks," Dean said, pulling the glass close to him. He was hoping she wasn't looking for any favors tonight.

"What brings you in? The festival? Work? Pleasure?"

Dean ignored the way she said the last word and downed his whiskey, "All three," he said, pushing the glass back towards her. "Thanks for the whiskey, but I really need to get going." He turned and saw Sam hunched over his computer, eyes darting across the page. Damn it, he did say he was going to talk to some locals…

"Actually, maybe you can help me with something." Dean turned and noticed the bartender still watching him, examining him almost; it was rather unsettling.

"Sure, what do you need? Directions? A motel or something to stay at?"

"Well, yes to the motel, but do you happen to know anything about a bake – off that happens every year during French Quarter Fest?"

The bartender looked taken aback by Dean's comment. He noticed her cheeks turn a deep scarlet, however, she attempted to play it off like it was nothing. "Can't say I have," she responded. "There used to be one, but not anymore, not since...well, never mind, it's not important. How about that motel? Let me get paper and I'll write down the name for you."

"Yeah, sure," Dean said slowly. The bartender returned, carrying a small notepad and a pencil. She quickly scribbled down the name of a motel and directions how to get there before handing the piece of paper over to Dean.

"The motel's in a beautiful part of town," she said, "one of the more historic areas, hopefully you like it."

"Thanks. Hey, when you said there used to be a bake-off, what did you mean by that?" Dean hoped playing the ignorance card would work for him now like it had so many times in the past.

"I didn't say anything about a bake-off, did I?" the bartender asked. She too, was playing the ignorance card. Dean rolled his eyes and leaned against the counter once more. He was tired and he was getting impatient, he really didn't want to play any games tonight.

"Yeah, you said there used to be one, but not anymore. What did you mean by that?" Dean raised an eyebrow and stared the bartender down.

"Look, I don't know a ton about it, just that some weird things started happening a few years ago and they shut it down. People started disappearing or whatever, so of course they aren't going to keep holding it! If you're really that curious about it, go talk to Roscoe, he'll be able to help you, but if I were you, I wouldn't go looking for anything. That bake-off was bad news."

"Roscoe? You got an address?" Dean handed back the piece of paper with the motel name written on it. He got a name at least. He wondered if Sam had found anything as well.

"He's right around the block," the bartender said, scribbling nervously on the paper. "You can't miss him. Oh, and if he asks, you didn't get his name from me, okay?"

"You got it," Dean winked and tucked the paper into his shirt pocket. "Thanks again for your help."

Sam looked up as his brother made his way over to the table and sat down, a goofy grin on his face.

"What? No chicks?" Sam asked, downing the last of his beer. "Did you strike out?"

"Me? No, tonight wasn't the night Sammy," Dean replied, producing the paper from his pocket. "But I did get us a lead on this bake-off! Guy named Roscoe—the bartender was real hush hush about everything though. I think it's worth checking out."

"Great! Let's go," Sam said, shutting the lid of his laptop, hoping that Dean hadn't seen that he was still researching the Mark of Cain.

* * *

A/N: As always, please read and review!

Kathy – Thanks so much for your support! I hope you enjoy chapter 4! Thanks for reading!

Piquelabaleine – I'm interested to see where it goes too, haha! I hope you enjoy chapter 4! Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	5. Chapter 5: Crystal Ballin'

Disclaimer: I do not own _Supernatural._

"I… I see…something blue," Addie murmured gazing deeply into the crystal ball she was hunched over. Waves began crashing before her eyes. "Water!" She sat up abruptly and watched the young woman across from her with wide eyes.

"How did you…how did you know that?" the young woman shrieked, clasping her hand to her mouth.

"Wait! That's not all!" Addie began to wave her hands theatrically around the crystal ball, all the while keeping an eye on her customer. It was almost too easy. Put on a good show and the customer will tip generously. Put on a good show and be _accurate,_ well, that was what paid her rent.

"A lake…hold on, I'm getting a name," Addie squinted her eyes shut and allowed her mind to wander, drifting between various pie recipes and tort review for the upcoming exam. A name began to form in her mind, _Erie._ "Lake Erie," she said confidently.

"That's…incredible," the young woman said, running her hands over her face in disbelief. "That's where I'm from! Well, Erie, Pennsylvania anyway. What else do you see?" The young woman leaned in closely and stared hard into the ball, as if she too could see what was within if she stared long and hard enough.

Addie raised an eyebrow, "Are you anticipating something?" she asked.

"W-what? No…uh, no."

"Okay…well, let's see what the crystal says," Addie watched the young woman for a moment and then smiled, placing her hands on the crystal ball and leaning her head back, eyes shut tightly once again. Her mind began drifting, first to pie recipes, then to various law definitions, then to fog.

* * *

 _The waves lapped gently against a sandy shoreline while sunbeams cast a bright glare on the surface of the water. Two young girls were digging earnestly in the sand, giggling, and intermittently throwing handfuls of sand at one another. One was pale with dark brown hair and eyes, the other was bronzed with golden waves and dark eyes. They couldn't have been older than eleven or twelve years old._

" _Jessie," the dark haired one piped up to the blonde, "I dare you to run out to the cut off." Jessie, the blonde, stared at the dark-haired girl for a moment, then rolled her eyes._

" _And why would I do that, Amber?" she asked._

" _Because you're a chicken and you won't do it," Amber retorted, crossing her arms._

" _The water's probably freezing," Jessie cried._

" _You're such a baby," Amber sneered. "No wonder Josh doesn't like you."_

" _Fine!" Jessie yelled, turning very red and standing up. She made her way slowly to the water's edge, allowing the clear waves to lap over her feet. The tide pulled back and her toes were buried in the sand. She shivered and turned around to face her sister. Amber rolled her eyes and motioned for her to go._

 _Jessie sucked in a deep breath and dashed out into the water. When the water reached her waist, she stopped._

" _I don't think that's the cut off," Amber yelled from the shore. She too, was now standing with her feet in the water, watching her sister expectantly. "Go on, you know how far to go out."_

" _Amber, I'm freezing! If I go out any further, I might cramp up!"_

" _Awww, baby want her binky?"_

 _Jessie let out a loud cry of frustration and continued out until the water reached her shoulders. Her lips were slightly blue as she turned once again to face her sister. Her head still bobbing up and down from the small waves coming to shore. From the shoreline, Amber grinned with satisfaction._

" _Okay, okay," she said, "you win! You can come back now."_

 _Amber watched as Jessie began to slowly make her way back. Then, she saw her sister's eyes widen and watched her be pulled several feet back from the shoreline._

" _Jessie, what are you doing?" Amber yelled, dashing out in to the water._

" _I—I'm being pulled! Something's pulling me!" Jessie cried out. She screamed and was pulled another few feet away from the shoreline._

" _Shit," Amber muttered. She looked all around and began screaming for help, but there was no one around. "Jessie! Jessie, listen to me, try to keep treading water!"_

 _The young girl was thrashing around in the water, trying desperately to swim towards the shore, but going nowhere. Amber ran to their blanket and grabbed her cellphone. As she dialed 911, she watched her sister's head disappear under the waves._

* * *

"Holy shit," Addie breathed, as she was kicked from the vision and back to reality. She stared blankly at the young woman in front of her and immediately recognized the dark hair and pale complexion.

"Well? What did you see?" Amber asked her. Addie felt a pang of guilt mixed with disgust stir in her stomach.

"What happened to your sister?"

Amber's eyes filled with tears and she buried her face in her hands. When she reemerged, her mascara was running, her eyes were bloodshot, and her lipstick was smeared. She cleared her throat and let out a small, pathetic sob.

"She—well, she didn't make it," she choked out. "She was caught in a rip current and the rescue team came and was able to pull her out of the water. They gave her CPR for forever, but she was gone…and it was all my fault. But you want to know the worst part? I blamed it on _her._ I blamed the whole thing on my sister. I told the paramedics that she wanted to go swimming but I told her not to. I lied about everything and to this day, my parents have no idea it was my fault."

"I take it you've been seeing her lately?" Addie asked. She had heard many stories like this before, and usually these people, these _guilty_ people were drawn to psychics and mystics for the sake of putting an end to whatever suffering they were enduring from the ones they've killed.

"Yes! Yes, I see her all the time now," Amber cried, tears now unrestrainedly pouring down her face. "I just want to tell her I'm sorry and that I love her and it's my fault."

Addie resisted rolling her eyes. Typical. The one responsible wants to own up to the act years and years after it's happened and only after she's begun seeing her dead sister around every corner. She couldn't say that to a paying client though, so she put on her best concerned and sympathetic face.

"I understand, Amber," she said softly, making her voice as comforting as possible. "Would you like me to summon her?"

"You can do that?" Amber asked, her eyes wide.

"I can do all things," Addie said, in a slightly pained voice, reciting a line Roscoe had taught her early on. She used to say, "Uh, yeah, I guess," whenever a client asked her if she could do something, but Roscoe said to maintain the mystery and make the money, she needed to be more enigmatic. Still, saying she could do all things never sounded right to her. She can't do all things, hell, she can't even bake a pie worthy of the great annual bake-off…or pass her upcoming tort exam, she reminded herself.

Amber was watching her and Addie realized she had zone out. Whatever, it probably added to the mystery.

"Shall we call on your sister then?" Addie asked, moving the crystal ball to the side of the table.

* * *

" _Roscoe's House of Mystique,"_ Dean read aloud, holding up the piece of paper the bartender had given him and comparing the names. "Sounds like a low budget strip club if you ask me."

"Kinda," Sam replied. The two examined the storefront. The door was wide open and inside Sam and Dean could see paraphernalia for every type of magic on the face of the earth. "What kind of place is this?" Sam murmured.

"I have no idea, Sammy, but with all that hoodoo in there, I suspect our friend Roscoe might be up to something shady," Dean replied, pocketing the paper.

Inside the shop there was movement, Sam and Dean watched as a young girl with dark hair handed over a wad of cash and came out clutching a brown paper bag. As she approached Sam and Dean, they noticed her eyes were bloodshot and she was holding on to the paper bag as if her life depended on it.

"Weird," Dean muttered as the young woman brushed past them. "But we've done worse."

Sam and Dean entered the shop and wandered through the various aisles of talismans, charms, and spell books. The shelves were lined with occult lore for all kinds of magic and hoodoo. Sam chose one of the books, _Witchcraft Through the Ages_ , and skimmed a few of the chapters. As he skimmed through the pages, stopping when it came a chapter entitled "The Rise of the Unlimited."

"Sam," Dean whispered, grinning from ear to ear and pulling Sam out of his reverie, "check this out." Sam glanced up from the book to find his brother holding a shrunken head. He rolled his eyes, slammed the book shut, and put it back on the shelf.

"Dude, put that down, that's disgusting."

"Can I help you gentlemen?" a smooth voice laced with a Jamaican accent interrupted the two brothers. Sam and Dean turned to find a middle-aged African American man standing behind them, his hands crossed neatly in front of him. "Are you looking for anything in particular?"

"No, no, just looking," Dean piped up, ungracefully putting the shrunken head back on the shelf and knocking over a few wooden statues.

"Ah, well if you need any help, I am more than happy to assist. I am familiar with all parts of the mystical realm," the man replied, smiling, his eyes twinkling.

"I'm sure you are," Dean muttered under his breath. Sam gave him a sharp look.

"I am Roscoe," the man offered. "I've spent my whole life collecting things related to witchcraft and the occult, and I can vouch for my collection and my knowledge."

"It's nice to meet you, sir," Sam offered. Dean was watching Roscoe suspiciously. "My brother and I…we're tourists, and we don't dabble in magic at all really, but we are interested in the lore."

"Ahhh!" Roscoe smiled broadly. "Can I interest you in a complementary telling? Some of my finest work out back, and I know they would be willing to answer any questions you have, even ones you don't believe there are answers for."

"We would love to take you up on that," Dean chimed in. "Do you take cash?"

* * *

A/N: Thank you to all who are reading and reviewing! I hope you enjoyed chapter 5!

Kathy – Thank you so much for sticking with the story and reviewing! I appreciate it! Hopefully you enjoy chapter 5!

Zan8901 – Yay! I'm glad you like it! Pie is soooo good! Addie will be meeting Sam and Dean very soon so keep checking back, and I hope you enjoy chapter 5! Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Olive – Here's your update! Thank you for reading and reviewing!


	6. Chapter 6: Meet and Greet

Disclaimer: I do not own _Supernatural._

* * *

"I have some of the finest tellers this side of the Mississippi," Roscoe said as he eagerly ushered Sam and Dean out the front door and around to the side alley. "I assure you that you will be more than satisfied with what you learn."

Sam took in the sights around him. A collection of about ten tables were all filled with customers, each staring with wide eyed excitement at their teller. One woman in particular—a heavily jeweled woman—was overly dramatic with each sweep of her hand, the many bracelets jingling against each other with each swoop. Across from that woman was a younger woman, Sam guessed she couldn't be older than twenty-five, who had an older woman at her table fully engrossed in the crystal ball as she wove some crap story, he was sure.

Sam willed himself not to roll his eyes at the spectacle of it all. It reminded him vaguely of a circus, but just as the tellers had a role to play for their customers, he and Dean had their own parts to perform.

"Rosie, Rosie, come here my darling," Roscoe called. The heavily jeweled woman –Rosie, Sam gathered—shook hands with the young man she had been servicing, and sauntered over to Sam, Dean, and Roscoe. Dean's eyebrows shot up at the sight of her.

"What can I do for you, Roscoe?" Rosie asked, eyeing up Sam and Dean, a smile spreading across her ruby red lips.

"My dear, this is—" he paused, looking at Sam and Dean. "I'm sorry, I don't think I caught your names?"

"Uh, I'm Jimmy," Sam said quickly, "and that's my brother, Richard."

"Ah, yes," Roscoe breathed. "Like I was saying Rosie, this is Bruce and Rick. They're tourists and have a taste for the mystical. I was hoping maybe you could give them a peek into that realm that mystifies so many, you know, since Addie is currently occupied."

Sam noticed Rosie's eyes flash to the young woman he had noticed earlier before focusing back on Sam and Dean.

"My brother and I—" Sam began, but with the wave of a jeweled hand, Rosie interrupted him.

"You don't need to speak, my dear," she said, her eyes glittering mischievously as she eyed up both him and Dean. "I already know why you're here. You have questions that can only be answered by the spirits of the beyond, isn't that right?"

"Yes! Yes, that's absolutely right, how did you know?" Sam avoided making eye contact with Dean, already knowing that his brother was doing his best to keep a straight face and not blow their whole cover.

"Oh, honey, I know all things." Rosie placed her index finger on Sam's chin and Sam fought the urge to take several steps back. "Shall we, then?"

* * *

"Thanks again, Addie," a middle-aged woman smiled warmly as she dug in her purse and pulled out a crisp twenty-dollar bill.

"Mrs. Page—I really can't take that," Addie stammered. She glanced over at Roscoe who was busy with Rosie and two customers. She didn't think he noticed.

"I insist," Mrs. Page said, pressing the bill into Addie's fist. "If it weren't for you, Bill would be gone. He would be truly gone." Addie noticed Mrs. Page's hazel eyes grow watery. "Besides, law school doesn't pay for itself, does it?"

"No, no it doesn't. Thank you, Mrs. Page, really. This is a big help."

"I'll see you in two weeks, then." Mrs. Page gathered her belongings and rose from the table. Addie went in for her usual handshake but was ambushed by an embrace. She forgot that Mrs. Page was a hugger. The scent of rosewater filled Addie's nostrils and she was immediately reminded of her mother. She shook the image away and removed herself from Mrs. Page's embrace.

"See you in two weeks," Addie said. The moment Mrs. Page disappeared into the store, Addie fell exasperatedly into her chair and looked up at the sky, exhaling heavily. There were no stars—too much light pollution from the city. She unraveled the wadded up twenty in her hand and stared down at the face of Andrew Jackson. Twenty should be enough to the get the ingredients she needed to make that pie she had been dreaming about all night.

Something had to give the pie a little extra kick though. Something that the judges wouldn't be expecting…maybe caramel? Caramel infused apples baked into a traditional apple pie recipe. That could be something worth first place. Or maybe she could do something with cinnamon, or possibly something combining cherries and apples…after all, what could be better than combining two classic favorites?

"…Addie?" Roscoe's voice kicked her from her internal debate. Addie hastily shoved the twenty into her satchel. Roscoe had a strict no tipping policy to prevent some tellers from making more than others on any given night since some tellers had clientele with deeper pockets, so to speak.

"Y-ye-yes? Oh, hello—hi, Roscoe," Addie spluttered the words. Standing next to Roscoe was a rather skeptical looking man with chestnut brown hair and green eyes. He looked a little rough around the edges to say the least.

Dean raised an eyebrow as Roscoe introduced him to the young woman who he had seen just moments shove a twenty -dollar bill into her purse. He had to bite his tongue as he watched her fluster in front of her boss. There was no way Roscoe didn't see her less than graceful thievery. Dean had a feeling the only reason Roscoe didn't address it was because this chick was good at her job. He'd seen that before.

"Addie," the young woman said, holding out her hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Richard," Dean said, plastering a million dollar smile on his face. This was going to be a piece of cake.

"I'll give you two some space," Roscoe said, putting his hand on Addie's shoulder. Dean noticed him grip it tightly and Addie wince slightly. Ehh…maybe no matter how good you were, you knew better than to take tips.

Addie gestured to Dean to take a seat. As he sat down, Dean noticed the strange etching in the wood of the table. Some were symbols he was familiar with and others he had never seen before.

"What's all this?" he asked as Addie pushed the crystal ball to the middle of the table and removed the purple cloth.

"It's warding," she responded coolly. "It's for our protection. Now, what can I do for you?"

"You know, I'm not a mind reader or anything, but I think you weren't supposed to pocket that twenty."

"I'm sorry, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Okay, kid, whatever you say," Dean leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. "So let me ask you this, Addie, what's your go-to? Body language? That's what I think your coworker is using over there on my brother." He nodded his head towards where Sam and Rosie were sitting. Addie inwardly groaned as she watched Rosie flourish her hands around the crystal ball all while keeping a watchful eye on the man in front of her.

"I use the inner eye," Addie mumbled. That's what Roscoe told her to say when someone asked her how she did her craft. She heard Richard snort and watched him as he ran his hand through his hair. Dean watched a scowl spread across Addie's features.

"Look, if you just came here to make fun—" she began.

"No, no, I'm sorry," Dean interrupted. "Really, I am. Let's start over, you know, on the right foot this time. Hi, I'm Richard." He stretched his hand out for another handshake. Addie looked at it skeptically and then back at his face. He was rather good looking, for being rough around the edges. _Richard_ gave off the aura of someone who has probably spent most of his life charming women.

"Your name isn't Richard," Addie said nonchalantly. She watched him closely. This guy was good; whether his name was or wasn't Richard, he wasn't giving himself away.

"Oh yeah?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow and leaning across the table. Her watchful gaze hadn't gone unnoticed—neither had her obvious awkwardness. Dean suspected that this girl didn't see very much action on the dating front.

"Yeah," Addie said. This time, she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms across her chest. "And believe me, I appreciate the whole fake name bit, but I don't understand why you would feel the need to lie to me. I don't know you, you don't know me, we'll never see each other again after this, so why the front?"

Addie leaned forward and faced Dean squarely across the table, "Actually, you know what? I don't care. So what are we doing tonight? Fortune telling? Using the crystal ball? Having a séance? It's your call, _Richard_."

"To be honest I don't want to deal with any of those things tonight. I just want to have an honest, wholesome conversation with you, if you could give me that?" Dean smirked and leaned one arm on the table; turning on the charm.

"A _conversation?_ Dude, you know I'm not a prostitute, right?

"What? What are you-? Of course I know you're not a prostitute," Dean spluttered. He rolled his eyes and sighed. This might be harder than he thought. "Look, kid, my brother and I…we're not from around here, but we've heard stories, you know? If you could just help me out—I'll give you a little something extra to add to that twenty you're hiding." He winked at her, praying this time the promise of some extra cash would seduce her.

"How much?"

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

With a grunt, Dean pulled out his wallet. Addie smacked his hand, "Not out in the open, dummy!" She hissed and nodded towards where Roscoe was standing, chatting with a customer who had just left one of the tables. Dean scowled as he thumbed through the bills in his wallet—typical phony—draining a man for all he's worth.

Dean leaned across the table and placed a wad of cash in Addie's hand. She counted it under the table. Dean saw her eyes light up as she counted out the one hundred dollars. As she stashed the money in her purse, Addie hit her head against the top of the table. Dean heard her curse silently and rolled his eyes—Sam was going to be pissed he wasted a hundred bucks.

Addie grinned at him and pulled her chair closer to Dean. Her eyes were brimming with excitement as she pulled the crystal ball in between them.

"Okay, _Richard,_ " she added for emphasis. "What do you want to know?"

* * *

Author's Note:

Thank you to everyone who has been reading, following, and favoriting this story! I apologize for the late update, but I hope you enjoy it! Please remember to review! Seriously…reviewing can only make things better! :D


	7. Chapter 7: History

Disclaimer: I do not own _Supernatural._

* * *

Dean lowered his voice and focused on Addie. He wondered how freely he could speak to her. Sure, she seemed a little spacey, but he knew better than to judge a book by its cover.

"I'm wondering if you know anything about a baking competition. You know, it would be around this time of the year—French Quarter Fest is it? My brother and I, we don't like to admit it, but we're foodies. You know, those people who always take pictures of their food and post it online?"

He gave Addie another dazzling smile, which she did not return. She merely stared at him, one eyebrow raised. He didn't need to be a mind reader to know that she wasn't buying what he was selling.

"I know what a foodie is," Addie replied slowly, as if she were choosing her words carefully. Her mind was spinning; ever since the last disappearance the bake off was banned for the protection of all those involved. How did he know about the underground revival? Especially if he wasn't local.

Addie studied him carefully; his eyes looked…tired despite their brightness. He seemed to be carrying a heavy burden, but she couldn't seem to identify what it was.

"There used to be one," she began. Dean watched her weigh each word. "But there were some…problems with it, so the festival organizers discontinued it. I'm sorry you came all this way for-"

"I'm Dean," he interrupted. Addie looked at him quizzically. "My name," he replied. "You were right, it's not Richard, it's Dean."

"Okay, Dean," Addie said, "well either way, it's not around anymore."

"That's not what I've heard," Dean said, he was beginning to get impatient. He was honest with her which was more than he could say about half the women he met; the least she could do was return the favor. "I have good reason to know that it's still going on, but it's more hush hush now."

"How on earth would you know that?" Addie asked, her voice filled with skepticism.

"Let's just say researching these kinds of things is my job. Right now, kid, you're not helping me, and I need you to help me. If this thing goes down and someone else goes missing and you knew it was going to happen, that blood is on your hands, understand?"

Addie was silent for a moment. Something was unusual about this guy, he seemed to be chomping at the bit, but still holding it together.

"It's this weekend," she piped up. Dean leaned in closer to her. "The bake-off, it's this weekend. And you're right; people do go missing, but there haven't been any leads and no bodies have turned up. It's like you said, the people, they just…vanish."

Dean let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair, "How long has this been going on?"

"I don't know, at least six years. I started competing five years ago though."

"Wait—what? You compete in this thing? Even with people disappearing? Even after you _knew_ people were vanishing?"

"Of course! Why wouldn't I?" Addie said harshly, raising her voice slightly. "My _mother_ disappeared from that stupid bake-off six years ago. Just as they were about to announce her the winner, she vanished. I looked everywhere for her and I'm still looking! This bake-off is the only chance I get to come even remotely close to possibly finding her."

"Hey, kid, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to touch a sore subject," Dean said, softening his voice.

Addie blinked away hot tears that were welling up in the corners of her eyes. She felt so angry and vengeful; it was a feeling she had never felt before. It was as if a monster was chewing away at her insides, trying desperately to come out, but something was holding it back. Addie looked back over at Dean and wiped her eyes furiously, realizing those feelings of white hot fury weren't coming from her—they were coming from him. _He_ was the one harboring those ugly thoughts and she was channeling them somehow.

"It's fine," she murmured, clearing her throat, then meeting his gaze again.

"No, really, I know what it's like to lose—"

"Just…don't, okay?" Addie interrupted him. She felt he meant well, but sympathy wasn't something she wanted right now. All she wanted was to curl up in her bed and go to sleep for a long time, then go to the store, and then bake her pie.

Bake her pie…

Addie dipped below the table and rummaged through her bag, grabbing out an old post-it with a grocery list on it. She scribbled down her address and handed the post-it to Dean.

"If this kind of thing is your job, then help me win the bake-off. You and your brother, you guys can come to my house tomorrow and we'll bake a pie that's worthy of an abduction, okay? Maybe I'll find my mom and maybe you'll solve your case. Sound like a plan?"

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! Let me know via review or PM: What is your favorite type of pie?


	8. Chapter 8: Starting From Scratch

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to _Supernatural._

* * *

The motel was unimpressive to say the least. Two twin beds stationed in the middle in the room boasted moth eaten blankets, thread bare sheets, and pillows that were tough and lumpy in all the wrong places. Covering the wall was a thick, paisley printed wallpaper bordered with images of the Fleur de Lis; in several places, the paper was peeling away from the wall to reveal a sickly moss green paint underneath. A top-heavy desk standing on wobbly, stick thin wooden legs sat between the beds, adorned with an old analog clock and a phone. The room boasted one bathroom, complete with a claw foot tub with wrap around curtain because it doubled as a shower as well. The toilet needed assistance in refilling the tank after each flush, but at least it worked.

Dean Winchester stood hunched over the porcelain sink, his hand hanging. The steady drip of water coming from the faucet was both annoying and mesmerizing. It had been a long night and he was tired. His age was starting to catch up with him; something he would never admit to Sam, who was engrossed in his laptop sitting on the bed. Normally, Dean would have made several jokes related to bed bugs and STDs that might have hung around from previous renters, but he was beat.

"You okay?" Sam called. Dean doused his face with cold water and then grabbed a grubby looking towel and quickly dried off.

"Yeah…yeah, just… it's been a long day, you know how it is." Dean threw himself onto the second bed and mentally cringed. Who knew what was living in this bed. His body felt broken…beaten beyond means. How he was still going was anyone's guess. Dean closed his eyes and welcomed the dark.

* * *

"Dean?" Sam yelled in the darkness, his voice echoing tenfold. He whipped around, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. "Dean?"

There was no answer. Sam felt the walls of darkness closing in on him. His throat began to tighten, and he clutched at his neck absently. He heard footsteps approaching from nothingness. Sam grasped at his waist but his gun was gone.

Someone touched his shoulder and Sam spun around. He stood face to face with Dean—black-eyed, monstrous looking Dean—who had blood spattered on his face and all over his shirt.

"Hi Sammy," he growled, raising his fist. Sam stood paralyzed, whether from fear or disbelief, he couldn't be sure.

"Dean, NO!"

* * *

Sam blinked, sunlight streaming into his eyes. For a moment, he forgot where he was; the horrible paisley wallpaper, the scratchy sheets, and holey blankets. The soft sound of snoring filled his ears and he glanced over at Dean, completely unconscious, arm dangling off the bed and a small pool of saliva gathered at the corner of his mouth.

The clock on the night table read 7:30 AM. Sam sat up in bed and grabbed his laptop, bringing it to life. He had about 20 different tabs open on his browser all related to the Mark of Cain. Flashes of the text he had read the night before ran through his mind. _"Source of all evil...brother killed brother…cursed…eternal punishment…."_ His mind wasn't on the case at hand at all, which could become dangerous, but what was more important? His brother or some missing people who were, best case scenario, dead? For Sam, the answer was simple. Dean.

"Geez, Sammy, do you sleep? Ever?" Dean's voice cut through Sam's thoughts. He glanced over at his brother, quickly opening a new search tab on his laptop. The last thing he needed was Dean playing the "don't worry about me" card.

"Couldn't sleep," Sam said, shrugging. "I was going to do some more digging before we go over to that teller's place. You know, we don't want to be walking into a trap."

Dean chuckled and ran a hand over his face, "Sammy, trust me, it's not a trap."

Sam shut his laptop closed and swung his legs over the side of the bed, pulling on a pair of socks. Flipping his hair out of his eyes, he returned Dean's grin and began tying his sneakers, "I just think it would be better to be safe than sorry."

"If it makes you feel better, we'll bring the silver and Holy water, but trust me Sam, this chick is about as lame as they get. The way I see it, we help her bake some sweet, sweet pie, kick some ass at this competition, gank whoever is responsible, and be on our merry way. Easy as pie," Dean said, throwing a black T-shirt over his head. He noticed Sam's eyes drift to the crimson mark on his forearm.

"Sam, come on. It'll be nice to be working a straight, cut and dry case. We have time, we can figure all _this_ out later," Dean motioned to his arm. Sam forced a smile and nodded.

"Okay, but I'm serious Dean, after this case we need to figure the Mark out," he said as Dean grabbed the keys to the Impala.

"But first, pie!"

* * *

"Fuck," Addie murmured. She stared into the bowl sitting on the kitchen counter. Inside, the egg whites, which should have been forming soft, foamy peaks, began to look curdled and clumpy—a clear indication that she over mixed them. Addie grabbed the spinning wire whisk out of the mixture, halting its spinning, and ran it over to the sink tossing it in unceremoniously.

"No good?" Apollo asked from the top of the dresser, where he was bathing in the morning sunlight.

"No," she said. "I don't know why I tried that manipulation spell. It would've been easier to just use the hand mixer."

"It's about the control of the spell, Addie," Apollo pointed out, using a paw to meticulously smooth his whiskers. "You don't have the control. Probably because you don't practice."

"Don't you have anything better to do than criticize me? Like cough up a fur ball or something? The vet said you gained two pounds since the last visit, go run some laps around the house."

"That's not my fault. I don't feed myself, I don't have thumbs, remember?"

Addie rolled her eyes and scraped the egg white goo out of the mixing bowl. There was no use arguing with a cat. She still hadn't told him about the man she met last night; how he and his brother were looking to crack the case of the bake-off as well. Apollo didn't take kindly to strangers.

"Addie, someone's coming," Apollo said urgently, his nose pressed against the window. "Two men?"

"It's okay, Apollo, they're…" she hesitated. She couldn't say friends, because they weren't friends. Hell, she had just met them last night. "They're safe. They want to help."

A soft knock on the door echoed throughout the high-ceilinged house. Apollo threw Addie a dark look and jumped off the dresser, landing with a loud thud on the ground, before scampering off under the bed.

Addie walked calmly to the door and checked her appearance briefly in the mirror. There were egg whites stuck in her hair in various places. She tried to smooth them out but only managed to clump it together. Whatever, that would have to do. Besides, it wasn't like she was auditioning for a Miss America pageant.

She threw the door open and was faced with two men, both over six feet tall, dressed in flannel shirts and jeans. The one from her session last night looked like he hadn't slept, and the other, the one with the longer hair, looked incredibly suspicious.

"Addie," the one from last night said, Dean? Maybe? "This is my brother, Sam."

"Nice to meet you," the one named Sam said, shaking her hand with an unnecessarily firm grip. He fidgeted in his pocket for a moment before pulling out a badge and ID. "We're FBI. I understand my brother told you we are in the line of work?"

"Woah, what? Yeah, he mentioned something like that, but I don't think he said anything about the FBI," Addie's eyes were wide as she stared at the badge. Sam noticed her hands drift towards the bottom of her shirt and begin twisting the material around her wrists.

"We typically don't like to share that information when we are undercover," Dean piped up.

"Well, come in," Addie said, stepping out of the doorway. Dean was immediately struck by the overwhelming scent of cinnamon and sugar. His stomach began speaking its own language.

"Do either of you bake?" Addie asked, leading them into the kitchen. Sam took stock of everything around him. For the most part, the kitchen was relatively nice. The room was open, with a small, white gas stove positioned near the rear wall. There was ample counter space, although it was sectioned off by the sink and dishwasher, and Addie had various mixing bowls, ingredients, and measuring spoons strewn haphazardly over the counter.

"Not to toot my own horn, but I'm pretty good with boxed mac and cheese," Dean said. He chuckled as Sam rolled his eyes. Addie crossed her arms, looking unimpressed.

"I've made some cakes while I was at Stanford," Sam offered. "Nothing overly fancy though."

"You went to Stanford?" Addie asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Yeah, it feels like it was another life ago."

"What did you study? Criminal justice?"

"Let's just say it wasn't culinary arts," Dean chimed in. "So Addie, what's the game plan? What are we baking?"

"Actually, I was hoping you would be able to tell us a little about the bake off, if you don't mind," Sam said, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder. Typical Dean, he wanted to jump right to the good part of the investigation without actually getting any information.

"I don't know a lot, so I might not be the best source, but I can tell you what I know," Addie said, her face turning serious. "As you may know, French Quarter Fest has been around since the 1970's and it's always been a time where cooks, musicians, and arts come to the city and let their craft be seen, heard, and eaten. It's actually a lot of fun. My mom used to take me every year when I was a kid.

The bake off started about ten years ago. My mom started competing because she loved to bake and it was a great chance to show off her skills. She was a fabulous baker, way better than I'll ever be. About 10 years ago, she won. I was watching from the crowd. I remember her going up and receiving her ribbon. She was supposed to go around back to get a picture with the judging panel, but she never came back. She was found a few days later with her heart ripped out and traces of poison in her bloodstream."

Addie paused for a moment and took in a deep breath. She inhaled deeply before continuing,

"There were no leads, there was no evidence, there was…nothing. Just her dead. So they stopped looking because detectives can only do so much. It wasn't their fault. They had nothing to go on. The next year, the same thing happened. The winner was chosen and they showed up dead a few days later, heart ripped out and traces of poison. This went on for about 5 years until the festival officials had the sense to call it off. The bake off was banned, but you see, it had become such a big part of French Quarter Fest that hundreds of people were disappointed they wouldn't have the opportunity to compete. Thus, the underground division was born.

People are still dying each year after the winner is announced, but that hasn't stopped anyone from coming. If anything, I feel like it's drawn more people to it. It has such a dark and twisted history that everyone wants to know if it's the real deal or not. It's like a twisted adrenaline rush. But I'm not like that. I want to know what's going on behind this and I want to know what happened to my mom."

"Were any of the judges the same year after year?" Sam asked, eyebrows furrowed.

Addie shook her head, "No, they've always been different. Trust me, I've been trying to investigate this for a long time now. I figure the only way in is to win."

"And what do you plan on doing if you win? You're what? 100 pounds soaking wet? How are you going to protect yourself and take down the killer?" Dean asked, sizing the small woman up. She wouldn't last a minute in a fight.

"I—well I haven't gotten that far yet," Addie said, casting a sideways glance towards the wall. "I know I don't look like much…"

"Damn straight you don't look like much," Dean said, crossing his arms. "Unless you buy some hoodoo to beef yourself up from dear old Roscoe, but you don't strike me as that type of person."

Addie turned a deep shade of crimson and ran a hand through her hair. When she looked back at the brothers, her eyes were bright with determination.

"Look, we can worry about that when the time comes, but right now our biggest problem is that I can't actually bake anything _worthy_ of winning first place. So, do you guys have any ideas?"

* * *

A/N: Hey everyone! Sorry it's been so long! Life has been absolutely hectic the past few months. We moved into a new house, school started, and life has just gotten the best of me. Anywho, I hope you enjoy this new update and please, please remember to review!


	9. Chapter 9: You're A What?

A/N: I do not own Supernatural.

Dean examined the young woman in front of him. She was a mess—yet she stood there with her hands on her hips and a determined look in her eye. Addie reminded him vaguely of Jo, but maybe less savvy. Either way, the kid had a case that needed solving and damn it, he and Sam were going to solve it.

"I've tried some of the classics like strawberry and rhubarb and pecan, but they didn't turn out well. Then I tried some new age-y ones like banana cream and…some sort of tart, I think? But those didn't turn out either." Addie ran a floured hand through her hair, leaving a streak of white amidst the auburn.

"What do you mean, they aren't turning out?" Sam asked.

"Exactly what it sounds like," Addie retorted. "They have either no flavor, or no texture, or no…'wow!' factor." Upon saying the word "wow," Addie's eyes popped open wide and she did some sort of jazz hands move. Sam raised and eyebrow and glanced over at Dean, exchanging one single thought between themselves, "Yikes."

"Oh, come on!" Addie said, her cheeks flushing crimson. "You know what I mean! Haven't you ever had a pie that when you take one bite of it, you can't help but say 'wow?'"

Dean chuckled and sighed heavily, "I know what you're talking about, kid. Sam over here is a health nut, he doesn't understand the heavenly joy that is pie."

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head—the sound of Dean laughing was something he hadn't heard in a while. It was a good sound, one that brought a spark of hope to the whole Mark of Cain situation. "Okay, so what do you think would be the best plan of action?" Sam asked.

Addie looked thoughtful for a moment. She vividly remembered the pie that won last year—it was a Boston crème pie and apparently it was to die for. Since Boston crème is less traditional than say, apple or cherry, she figured this year would place the focus on more traditional pastries.

"I think we should go with an old favorite," she said slowly, eyeing her kitchen counter that was covered in dry ingredients and mixing bowls. "But give it a little twist."

"I think I've got an idea, then," Dean said, clapping his hands together.

* * *

"Sam, how is that crust turning out?" Addie called from the kitchen. Sam was hunched over a table in the dining room, rolling the dough out into a circle. He felt so young in that moment; recalling some of the things he and Jess had made together while at Stanford, while she was still alive. Sam also acknowledged how therapeutic rolling out the dough was. The pin glided over the light tan substance, smoothing it out and removing any air bubbles or dents and bumps.

"It's looking really good actually," Sam replied, smiling. "How's the filling coming?"

"Eh…it's coming! I've been chopping apples for eternity though," Sam heard Dean's voice followed by the rhythmic chopping of a knife on a cutting board.

"I actually think that we almost have enough now to start the pie," Addie said, wiping her hands on a dish towel and checking on the pie crust. She took an index finger and pressed it gently in the middle of the circle of dough. "Sam, that's perfect! That's just thick enough to make a nice crust."

"I'll take it over to the pie pan then," Sam said, carefully picking up the round dough. Making his way into the kitchen, he did not expect for Dean to come bounding around the corner, arms filled with a giant mixing bowl of diced apples. It was as if everything moved in slow motion from that point on. Sam watched the bowl of apples fly out of Dean's arms as his brother stumbled backwards. Likewise, the dough Sam had been holding slipped out his hands and made a straight line for the floor.

Sam prepared himself for the crash, but it never came, mainly because both the crust and the bowl of apples were hanging suspended in mid-air. Wide eyed, Sam looked from the crust and apples to Dean and then over to Addie who was standing in the threshold to the kitchen, hand outstretched, trembling slightly.

No one spoke.

Dean felt a surge of energy course through his veins at the sight of Addie. When he spoke, his voice was harsh, "What the hell? What are you?" His hand went subconsciously to his gun holstered at his side.

"Wait, wait, please, I can explain," Addie said, her voice high, blue eyes darting from Sam to Dean. "Please!"

"You have thirty seconds before I put a bullet through your head!" Dean shouted, drawing his gun and aiming between her eyes.

"Dean!" Sam yelled. "Shit, put the gun down!"

"Sam, she's a witch! For all we know she's the one killing all these people for their freaking pie recipes!"

"No! No, I would never! Please, let me explain!" Addie was shouting. She put her hand down and both the dough and bowl of apples landed undisturbed onto the kitchen counter.

"What could you possibly have to explain? You're a monster. We've seen your type before and they're all the same! What's bad about having one less witch in the world?" Dean snarled, cocking the gun.

"Dean, stop!" Sam yelled, jumping in between his older brother and Addie. Dean grunted in frustration but lowered the gun.

"Sammy, get out of the way. Let me do my job."

"No, not until we hear what she has to say," Sam replied sternly, then adding quietly, "besides, if she wanted to kill us, wouldn't she have tried by now?"

Dean's eyes narrowed as he stared at Addie. He hated monsters. They were unnatural and represented all that was wrong with the world.

"You really should hear her out," a voice said from behind Dean. The older Winchester whipped around and seeing no one but a large, orange tabby sitting behind him. To Dean's horror and surprise, the cat, washing his whiskers nonchalantly, eyed him up as if he had seen him before.

"I'm Apollo, Addie's familiar." The cat said.


	10. Chapter 10: Misunderstandings & the Mark

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural

A/N: Wow! We are almost up to 50 follows! That's amazing! Thank you so much for all the continued support! I am immensely grateful to each and every one of you. Please remember to read and review!

* * *

"What the hell?" Dean's eyes practically popped out of his head as he examined the orange cat sitting calmly at his feet. Given his experience with the supernatural, Dean felt it was a little ludicrous that he should be floored by a talking cat, but still, it was a _talking cat._

"A-a familiar?" Sam stammered, eyebrows furrowed together. He vaguely recollected encountering a familiar before—two actually—a cat and a dog, and if he was remembering correctly, they also had human forms.

"Yes, a familiar, did I stutter?" Apollo said, arching his back and wrapping his tail neatly around himself as he sat down. "Although given your occupations, it surprises me that you're only now meeting one."

"And how the hell would you know anything about us?" Dean growled, fingering his gun. He felt his heart begin to race and his face grow hot, two things that were never a good sign. The mark on his arm gave off a burning sensation.

"You're hunters, are you not?" Apollo asked.

"How did you know that?" Sam asked, noticing Dean's sudden change in demeanor. No doubt being blindsided by the revelation that Addie was a witch and her cat talked had his blood boiling and his anger mounting.

"Yeah, Salem, how the hell did you know that?" Dean demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

Apollo looked unintimidated, flicking an ear back, "Friends talk," he offered.

Addie, who had somehow managed to remain silent during the exchange, spoke up, "Will someone please tell me what's going on?" She looked at Apollo, "What's the big deal if they're hunters? Aren't FBI agents allowed to have hobbies?"

Sam and Dean exchanged a long glance. With frustration, Dean rolled his eyes and nodded to Sam. They might as well tell her the truth.

"My brother and I, we hunt monsters," Sam began, "you know, like ghosts and vampires, werewolves even."

"The occasional witch," Dean growled, his voice deadly. Addie's face turned a deep shade of crimson within a second. She felt like the room was suddenly too small for the three of them, plus Apollo. "How long have you been doing magic there, Sabrina?"

"Dean…" Sam began.

"What Sam? I think we have a right to know. This could be a set up. For all we know, she's going to call her little coven friends and bake _us_ into a pie!"

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Apollo said, tucking his paws under his body as he sat down. "Addie's not part of a coven. Her family was banished from the coven generations ago."

"And I definitely don't eat people," Addie said, her eyes narrow, glaring at Dean. "Besides, I'm terrible at magic. I can do a few things here and there, but overall my skills are what you would call below par." Her cheeks burned pink again. This wasn't something she wanted to be talking about.

"So, you're Glinda the Good Witch then?" Dean asked, eyebrow raised. Addie said and did nothing. There was a long silence before Dean spoke again, "I'm not buying it. Come on, Sam, let's get out of here."

"You're leaving?" Addie said, her voice tinged with disbelief. "But…I thought you were going to help me!"

"Listen, kid, we help _people_. _Humans._ Not monsters. I hate to break it to you, but you fall into that last category."

"I'm not a monster," Addie said, tears beginning to sting at the corner of her eyes, barely able to get the word across her lips. She had been humiliated before, but never to this extent.

"Dean, I think you're being a little unreasonable," Sam murmured to his older brother, his back to Addie. "She hasn't done anything to hurt us."

"Yet, Sam, she hasn't done anything _yet_ ," Dean countered.

He raised his gun again and pulled back the hammer, aiming directly at Addie's forehead. He watched her face drain of color and her eyes sparkle with fear. There was something so…invigorating about that look. The knowledge that in that moment, he held her entire life in his hands. Dean's heart began to beat loudly and he heard Sam call his name, but it was muffled and sounded very far away. The Mark seared white hot on his skin beneath his shirt.

"Consider this a warning," Dean said, lowering the gun, "but let it be known that if we catch even the slightest hint that you're using magic, I will come back and I will shoot you." Dean holstered his gun once again, turned, and left the house.

Sam looked desperately from the door to Addie, who had sunk to the ground and was visibly shaking from head to toe. "I'm sorry," was all he could think of, as he too turned and left the house.


	11. Chapter 11: The Source

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.

Approaching the dilapidated building, the woman's long chestnut ringlets swayed in the light breeze as she glanced around with large eyes surveying her surroundings before pushing on the door with the peeling brown paint. Inside, the room was dimly lit, but it did not take long for her eyes to adjust. She paused briefly and inhaled deeply, nostrils expanding to absorb the entirety of the scent—someone was with her. Eyes narrowed, the woman took in the room inch by inch, examining every nook, cranny, and crevice. When the man finally revealed himself from the shadows, she took in a breath of relief.

"Roscoe," she said, a smile creeping up on her lips. "You scared me."

"My apologies," Roscoe purred. His eyes gleamed with excitement, "I wanted to thank you again for sending the hunters my way last night. Everything seems to be in motion, just as you predicted."

"I would hope so. My family have been gifted seers for several generations. I don't make incorrectpredictions. Anyway, the Winchesters were easy enough to bait. They wanted information, so I sent them straight to the source." The woman chuckled shrilly, the sound emitting from her mouth resembling nails going down a chalkboard. She suddenly turned very serious, "Is everything set for tomorrow night?"

Roscoe clasped his hands behind his back and rocked slightly on his heels, "I believe so. The only piece we need in place is Addie."

"That won't be difficult; she can't stay away. Have you noticed how rapidly her powers have been fading? It's delectable, I can practically taste it now," the woman licked her ruby lips. "I'll be so happy to finally be rid of her. I'm so tired of sharing even an ounce of power with that little shit."

"She can harness power without the Source?" Roscoe interjected, looking quizzically at the woman. "I thought the magic could only be channeled through the Source."

"Oh, Roscoe," the woman sighted, rolling her eyes irritably, "don't you know anything? Don't answer that—I already know what you're going to say. She may not have her Source—I stole that from her mother when I cut out her heart to devour her magic—but she still has a connection with the Tree. As do I," the woman dreamily fingered at a gold chain around her neck, hidden beneath her shirt, "without her Source though, the power isn't what it could be. Removing her heart will sever her connection with the Tree and then her power will be rerouted to me through both Sources! It's a beautiful thing, really."

"And then you'll give me some real magic, right?"

The woman smirked, "Wasn't that our deal?" She glanced down at her watch and calculated the hours she had to endure before she could be rid of everyone who was no longer of use to her once she devoured Addie's magic. Roscoe would be one of the first to go.

"I have to go," the woman announced, "my shift at the bar is starting soon. Keep an eye on Addie tonight, got it? Make sure she's ready for tomorrow—she has a bake off to win."

* * *

Sam trotted quickly behind Dean. He had no idea where his brother was going and he had a feeling Dean didn't know either.

"Dean, stop," Sam said. "Talk to me; what's going on?"

No answer.

"Dean!" Sam raised his voice. "Stop! We need to talk! What the hell is going on with you? What was that back there?"

Dean stopped abruptly and spun around to face Sam, his face red, "What do you mean _'what was that?'_ Sam, that was me doing our job, or have you forgotten why we came here? We didn't drive all the way down to the damned swamp to help some witch bitch bake a pie! We came here to find the monster and kill it, like we always do!"

"Yeah, okay, but we also help people who need it. Look, can we cut the bullshit? You're on edge all the time, you barely sleep, you get angry at the smallest things, and you almost shot an innocent woman—"

"She's a _witch,_ Sam. She's far from innocent," Dean said darkly, casting side glances at the people who were walking by them hurriedly, looking slightly concerned.

"So what? She's a witch. She didn't kill us! She didn't make any moves to hurt us. But that's not the point, Dean. You're not yourself. Ever since Cain put the Mark on you, you've been unhinged. This isn't you, Dean."

Never one for expressing his emotions or wearing his heart on his sleeve, Dean felt something unclamp from his heart for a brief moment, allowing raw feeling to course through his body. It was an odd feeling—a mixture of fear, regret, and anger.

He knew Sam was worried about him. He was worried about himself and the type of rage the Mark made him feel constantly. Dean felt as if he were trapped in a room with no windows or doors, completely empty and black, and no matter how much he tried to get out, the room only became more confining.

Dean inhaled deeply and unclenched his fists, dissipating the whiteness of his knuckles, "Sammy, I don't know what's going on with me," he murmured, lowering his head.

Sam put a hand on Dean's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, "Come on, let's get something to eat and then maybe we can make a game plan from there. We don't have much time, the bake off is tomorrow."

* * *

Addie hadn't moved from the spot on the floor she had fallen to when Dean had her at gun point. She couldn't will her body to move, let alone muster up the strength to stand up. The whole situation had escalated quite rapidly and her brain hadn't yet recovered from the shock.

"Addie!" Apollo yelled, rubbing his body against her arms. "Hey! Snap out of it!"

"That was so scary," Addie murmured, burying her head in her hands and allowing tears to freely fall. "Fuck!" she screamed. In the sink, a water glass shattered, sending shards of glass all over the stainless-steel bowl and the counter top. Apollo's fur stood on end, but he made no comment.

She sat that way for several moments more and when she finally removed her hands from her face, her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. Apollo rubbed his whiskers against her leg, attempting to comfort her. Getting to her feet, Addie made her way shakily into the kitchen, noticing the shattered glass in the sink and on the counter. The bowl of apples that sat on the counter had a new glistening quality to it that Addie quickly learned was attributed to the tiny shards of glass scattered about within. She pricked her finger on one and dropped beads of blood on the apples.

"Damn," she said. "Well, that's it. I'm done." Addie popped open the trash can and dumped the apples in, watching the perfectly sliced fruit tumble to the bottom of the bin.

"You're done?" Apollo asked, "You can't make it again?"

"I don't _want_ to make it again! Not after…that! No, I give up. I'm done. Fuck the bake off, fuck those hunters, which, thanks for the heads up there, Apollo…you know, you could've warned me that they wanted my head on a silver platter."

Addie disappeared down the hallway into her bedroom, grabbing her hairbrush and wrenching it through her hair.

"Nope, I'm done. My baking days are over. And while I'm on a roll, my fortune telling days are over too," she said from the bedroom. "From now on it's school and school only. School is safe, it won't get me blown to pieces, at least I hope it won't." Addie threw on a light scarf to go with her new outfit and laced up her sneakers. She wasn't interested in looking overly fancy tonight. In fact, she wanted to blend in as much as possible. She made a mental note to ask Roscoe if she could move her table away from the main thoroughfare.

Grabbing her bag, Addie flipped the switch for the front porch light, "Don't wait up," she said, slamming the door behind her.

-O-

"What do you mean 'you quit?'" Roscoe asked, his eyes wide. "Addie, you can't quit!"

"Look, Roscoe, I really appreciate all that you've done for me the past few years. Really, I do, but something's come up and I can't work for you anymore. I'll finish out the next week, so I can give some of my regulars a heads up, but after that, I'm out. Rosie can have my clients." Addie dragged her table further away from the front door as planned, explaining to Roscoe as she went.

"I know it's none of my business, but what brought this on?"

Addie thought better than to tell him the whole story, "I need to focus on school and working at night and then going to school in the morning is getting a little overwhelming. I'm not getting enough sleep."

"I can let you leave earlier," Roscoe offered.

"Thanks, but no thanks," Addie said, "besides, the best paying customers don't come early in the night, we both know that."

"I'll be sorry to see you leave," Roscoe said. "You've been such a good employee; you really have that magic touch that the clients love. You'll be at the bake-off tomorrow though, right?"

"Actually no," Addie said, arranging her tablecloth and crystal ball. "I wasn't able to make anything for it, so I'm not registering. Honestly, Roscoe, that obsession was such a waste of time. If the police can't figure out what happened to my mom, what makes me think I'll be any better? I'll leave the baking to the people who are good at it."

"I can tell by your face that there's no changing your mind either," Roscoe said. "And I respect that, Addie." Roscoe dug into the pocket of his suit and produced a rather tattered looking piece of paper. He held it out for Addie who looked at him with curious eyes.

"What's this?"

"I was going to give this to you a while ago, but I know how much you like to do things on your own. This is an old family recipe for pear tart—it was my grandmother's recipe. It always got the highest reviews. Look it over, you don't have to try it, but at least think about it."

Addie took the piece of paper and skimmed over the ingredient list. It seemed simple enough to make, but did she want to risk baking the pie and then having to face the wrath of those hunters? They were definitely going to be at the bake-off and Addie didn't want to be within 100 feet of those guys.

"Thanks, Roscoe, I'll think about it," Addie said, pocketing the recipe. Her mind was already spinning though. Maybe one more attempt wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

* * *

A/N: Thank you to everyone for the continued support with this story! Please remember to leave a review, even if it's one word!

Kathy – right? Dean can be such a hothead sometimes. Although I will admit that I enjoy the development his character goes through on the show! He's very complex and interesting! Granted, they all are haha! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Guest – Thank you! I'm glad you are enjoying the story so far!

Anon – Thank you! I'm glad you feel Sam and Dean are true to character! Thanks for your kind words about Addie too! She's been a fun character to write! Enjoy!

BlueBloodsSVUOrder – Thank you for the review! As requested, here is your update! I hope you like it!

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